


the surprise

by bibliosexual



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Blindfolds, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, PWP, Somnophilia, clothed Derek/naked Stiles, consent is given!!, kind of a rape fantasy, nothing revolutionary just some good old-fashioned porniness, sex as a birthday present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosexual/pseuds/bibliosexual
Summary: When Derek climbs inside, he almost trips on the lacrosse stick that's leaned up against the sill, because Stiles' room is a fucking mess. He catches himself at the last moment on the back of Stiles' desk chair and bites his tongue, hard, against a curse. Stiles doesn't wake up, doesn't even twitch. His mouth is open, his head angled away from where Derek's standing, and he's got one palm resting lax on his stomach, over the trail of dark hair there. He's not wearing anything but a faded pair of red boxer shorts, loose and riding low on his hips.





	

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED TAGS BEFORE READING.
> 
> I pretty much NEVER write pwp because my normal response to it is a resounding "Meh" and if I try to write it I always feel a little silly, but what can I say. I wrote this as kind of a warm-up exercise in my fight against writer's block, and now here we are. I wasn't even going to post this, as it's not my usual fluff fic and this kind of thing has been done before in this fandom, so it's been sitting on my phone for a while, but I figured some of you guys might like to see it anyway. ;) Do heed the warnings/tags, though, if you think anything in here might be triggery, and let me know if I need to add additional tags.

Stiles is asleep, sprawled on his back with the covers kicked down around his ankles in the late spring heat, when Derek hauls himself as quietly as he can onto the ledge of the open window. It's nearly three a.m., and Derek has been waiting for this moment for several hours now. It's been a long night spent crouched in the shrubs, watching for the light to go out in Stiles' room. It sounded like he'd been playing a video game, lots of muted explosion noises and a steady stream of muttered "Yeah, take that!"s and "Fuck"s. Now, though, everything has been dark and still for a while. Stiles is definitely asleep, his heartbeat as slow and steady as his breathing.

When Derek climbs inside, he almost trips on the lacrosse stick that's leaned up against the sill, because Stiles' room is a fucking mess. He catches himself at the last moment on the back of Stiles' desk chair and bites his tongue, hard, against a curse. Stiles doesn't wake up, doesn't even twitch. His mouth is open, his head angled away from where Derek's standing, and he's got one palm resting lax on his stomach, over the trail of dark hair there. He's not wearing anything but a faded pair of red boxer shorts, loose and riding low on his hips.

Derek picks his way across Stiles' room and closes the door quietly. The last thing he needs is the sheriff getting up in the night for a glass of water and glancing in his son's bedroom. Embarrassment is not on Derek's agenda for the night; neither is getting arrested or plugged full of bullets. 

He sets his duffle bag on the end of the bed and ponders his options. He had a plan for how this would go, and it didn't involve Stiles on his back. He could try to move him — he knows from pack movie nights that Stiles is a heavy sleeper — but if Stiles wakes up now, it would kind of ruin it.

Stiles probably won't wake up.  

Decision made, he crawls over Stiles and ducks down to nuzzle the slight bulge of Stiles' cock. He's soft, but his dick stirs a little when Derek presses his open mouth against it through the cotton of his boxers and licks him. 

If he weren't worried it would wake Stiles up, he would be tempted to peel back the fabric and take Stiles in his mouth, tease him long and leisurely. As it is, Derek regretfully gives him one last nuzzle and sits back to set about rolling him over, as gently and slowly as he can, until he's on his stomach. Stiles doesn't react except to rub his cheek a little against his pillow and smack his lips.

Derek nods to himself, satisfied, and digs around in his bag for the lengths of soft rope he got from the hardware store yesterday. One at a time, he eases Stiles' hands up over his head. He holds his wrists together loosely and ties them to the headboard, tight enough that he won't be able to tug out of them but not tight enough to cut off the circulation. Stiles frowns slightly in his sleep, shifting one leg up towards his chest. Derek strokes a soothing hand down his back, the skin sleep-warm and smooth under his palm, and the frown eases.

The blindfold goes on next — just a simple black scrap of cloth from one of Derek's old t-shirts — and then the gag, a wad of the same t-shirt that he eases between Stiles' parted lips and secures with a tied rag. Then he slides Stiles' boxers over the swell of his ass, working them down Stiles' long legs and off, and just like that Stiles is naked.

It's a stirring sight: the small of Stiles' back — the firm globes of his ass — and, between his legs, the heft of his balls resting plump against the sheets. Derek strokes over them gently with the back of one finger, just because they're there and he can, and Stiles shifts his hips minutely in his sleep.

Derek _wants_ , but he has time. He has all night. He can enjoy this, luxuriate in it. He leans over Stiles, nosing at his neck and down his shoulder to the damp hair under his arm, breathing in the musky salt scent of his sweat and darting his tongue out, cautiously, to lick. He's always loved the way Stiles smells, almost as much as he loves the way he looks, and now he can take his fill. He opens his mouth and scrapes his teeth teasingly against the flesh of Stiles' armpit, where his scent is rich and amazing.

Stiles mumbles something in his sleep, possibly the word "Tickles," and Derek reluctantly pulls back. He doesn't want Stiles to wake up, not yet at least.

Sitting back on his heels, he digs around in his bag and comes up with the lube. He warms it in his hands first before he starts to finger Stiles open; the touch of cold wet fingers would probably be unpleasant enough to startle anyone awake, even Stiles.

It doesn't take long to work Stiles open. He's plenty relaxed, and even though Derek is purposefully going slow, it's only a few minutes before he's twisting four slick fingers easily into that perfect heat.

Derek stays like that for a few more minutes, just enjoying the slide of his fingers in and out of Stiles' hole and savoring the anticipation of what's coming next. Eventually, though, Stiles' heartbeat starts to speed up a little and he starts moving his hips in a slow grind against Derek's touch, and Derek suspects he won't be asleep much longer. 

He pulls his fingers out slowly — Stiles makes a cute little noise of loss at that — and fumbles to get his zipper open and his dick out. Then he slicks himself and hauls Stiles up by his hips. Stiles' dick hangs plump between his legs, flushed rosy pink and half-hard, and Derek's mouth waters a little at the sight. 

He doesn't wait after that. He can't. He tugs Stiles up a little more, getting him on his knees with his ass in the air, and pushes in.

It's hot and tight and slick, as perfect as he imagined, and it's not until Derek is almost all the way seated that Stiles clenches down around him, his heartbeat starting to race as he comes awake at last. 

He makes a noise the gag muffles and tugs hard on his wrists, but the knots hold fast, and he only serves to push himself back on Derek's dick the rest of the way.

Derek settles his hands possessively on Stiles' hips, enjoying the wriggling, and Stiles makes another noise, slightly louder than before. He shakes his head, probably trying to dislodge the blindfold. No such luck, of course. He tugs more frantically against his bindings after that, clenching down again on Derek's dick. It feels _amazing_ , and Derek can't help but thrust into that heat.

Stiles tries to kick out at first, to move his legs, as Derek starts to move in him, but the way Derek's got him positioned leaves him no leverage. He can't even get his elbows under him. All he can do is turn his face into the pillow and make punched-out little "uhn, uhn, uhn" noises into his gag as Derek starts fucking him in earnest. There's no sound in the room but that litany and, under it, Derek's panting and the slick sound of their fucking, the slap of his hips against Stiles' ass, the slight rhythmic creaking of the bed. It's good, it's so good, and Derek never wants it to stop.

He doesn't know if Stiles likes it, if Stiles is hard. He doesn't make any move to touch Stiles' dick. He just fucks him and fucks him. At some point Stiles clenches down around him harder, his body going stiff, and shouts through the gag. Presumably he's coming. Derek ignores it, letting his eyes drift shut as he chases his own pleasure.

When he can feel himself getting close, he leans forward and braces himself over Stiles' back, fucking into him deeper and harder, and gets the meat of Stiles' shoulder between his teeth, tonguing his mouthful of flesh, tasting the salt of Stiles' sweat. 

When he comes, he bites down _hard_ , hard enough to leave a bruise, and presses in as deep as he can. Underneath him, Stiles hides his face in the crook of his arm.

For a minute after that, it's quiet. Derek stays inside him, just panting and coming down from it, feeling the sweat start to cool on his back. He licks over the mark he's made, satisfied, and then moves up Stiles' neck, just burying his face there. He likes the way Stiles smells, like them, and the way he can feel Stiles' pulse there, rabbit-fast. 

Derek takes the gag out then, suspecting that Stiles won't make any noise now, and he's right. Stiles just pants and licks his lips.

Eventually Derek pulls out and tucks himself away, and Stiles hangs his head between his arms, his legs shaking a little, and it's over. 

Derek leaves him there like that, tied up like a present, so perfectly dirtied and marked, and then he climbs back out through the window and drops down to the lawn.

*

"Was that okay? Was it how you pictured it?" Derek asks, nervous, when he's finished untying Stiles' wrists and pulling off the blindfold a couple minutes later.

They'd talked about this first, of course, but only in broad strokes. It was Stiles' idea — Stiles is consistently the kinky one in their relationship, and whenever Derek doesn't know what to get him for his birthday, Stiles' answer is pretty much always "Sex!" — but Stiles was also the one who insisted he wanted to be surprised. ("It's a birthday present, Derek! You aren't supposed to tell me what it is!")

Stiles smiles and leans up on his elbows to kiss him, soft, at the edge of his jaw, just in that spot he knows Derek likes.

"Yeah," Stiles says, his voice pleased and genuine and a little hoarse. "It was perfect."

Derek smiles back, relieved, and angles his head for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [bibliosexxual](http://bibliosexxual.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


End file.
